


the high priestess

by suzuyaaaaa



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Fluff and Smut, Making Out, Mild Hurt/Comfort, No P5R spoilers, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Post-Canon, Riding, Rough Sex, Switching, i am embarrassed typing these out, p5 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:28:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23669167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzuyaaaaa/pseuds/suzuyaaaaa
Summary: “I-It was just...youwere in control. You were just looking down at me and over me, but I just felt awful even imagining it. It’s so Ryuji.”Akira waits for a scolding or a hard hit to his arm — but he hears a light snickering instead.When he glances up at Makoto, she’s covering her mouth with the back of her hand. Akira frowns at her, and Makoto sings out a symphony of laughter, holding her stomach and folding down towards the floor.Akira blinks in surprise before frowning deeper. “What, so it’s funny?”“You werehornyall day?”—akira keeps having dreams about makoto and the battle of yaldabaoth, and he's drowning in guilt —but makoto helps him fulfill a few of his fantasies.
Relationships: Amamiya Ren/Niijima Makoto, Kurusu Akira/Niijima Makoto, Niijima Makoto/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 7
Kudos: 144





	the high priestess

**Author's Note:**

> haha. haha. ha? i haven't written anything nsfw in uhhHH probably about 4 yrs bc i was very young when i wrote Old Stuff and i hated it and i got too scared to ever write smut ever again.... Until Now because like there is no reason to be afraid of that. truly, that is the reason this fic came to be. also, i had a vision of one description in this fic and was like "i have to write it" — but i got carried away OOPS!!
> 
> i actually did hv a friend beta-read this for once s/o to her for being the best and also letting me bounce ideas off of her!!! ily <3
> 
> no p5r spoilers b/c i am Still Playing It!!!! abt to watch makoto's awakening doe <3 will be back on my "dear name" type beat soon!!! enjoy :)

_“Am I distracting you?” Makoto taunts, words leaking like steam from her lips as the sky surges around her. With her mask on, Akira can only see her sharp, red mouth and her eyes shining like garnets. She smirks and shakes her head, taking pity on him in the most patronizing way. “Aren’t you supposed to be the leader? How_ pathetic. _”_

_Akira shudders when the flash of another attack isolates Makoto’s dark silhouette against a bright, white light. Her suit sticks to her like a second skin, all smooth leather clinging to the curve of her ass and hips, hugging her thighs. He can see the sweat making her bangs stick to her face, the high flush in her cheeks, and he falls onto his knees for her, weak to the throbbing of his body and the racing of his heart._

_Makoto approaches him with a snap in her hips — if he wanted to, he could reach out and snatch her, smother her, but she leans down and tugs him closer by the collar of his coat before he can. Makoto towers over him and pushes the toe of her boot down on his cock, and Akira hisses at the rush of euphoria. “I think I should show you how to properly lead, hm?” Makoto purrs into his ear. She pulls him up even more so he’s half-off his knees, and their noses brush each other._

_Her hot breath blossoms over his face, and he can feel his dick hardening with every breath he takes of_ her _, only her. Makoto lets go of one of his lapels to pull off her glove with her teeth, and she lifts her mask away before tossing it to the ground. “I guess I’ll reveal you this time,” she sighs, as if she’s still contemplating how to ruin him, gripping his face with her freed fingers._

_Akira’s suffocating under her burning gaze, and before he can stop himself, he reaches up desperately and cups her cheeks, his gloves blood red against her snowy skin. “Take your time, babe,” she chides before pulling him up to her level, digging her perfect nails into his cheek, nearly meeting his lips with her own. “We have all the time in the world.”_

—

Akira yelps as he wakes up, body covered in a cold sweat. When he looks down between his legs, there’s a familiar wetness that’s been plaguing his sheets and his boxers for the past week. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Akira sighs to the room, tangling his fingers into his own hair and tugging as hard as he can.

His alarm clock reads that it’s 5:14 in the morning — he has to be up in just about three hours so he can make his train to Tokyo the next day. When he looks over to the edge of the bed, Morgana’s still fast asleep, curled up in a little ball and nuzzled into his tail. Akira groans and tries to smother himself with his pillow.

He’s never been one to have wet dreams, probably because he never had someone to think about that way — until Makoto. He chalks it up to the fact that he’s seeing her tomorrow for the first time in two months, but that doesn’t make him feel like he’s justified.

He keeps coming back to the battlefield with Yaldabaoth, drowning in the god’s stupid lust spell. He can’t forget those hallucinations, no matter how much he tries — he doesn’t _want_ to be that kind of person, especially when he knows everyone he cares about would snarl in disgust if they ever got a glimpse into his brain. 

It’s not even like they haven’t done anything before — but these dreams, that fucking _spell_ , are different all together. It’s infuriating to have these illusions of memories mixed in with all the other nostalgics of being Joker.

Akira looks up at the clock again to see he’s wasted ten minutes wallowing in self-hatred, and he’s losing sleep by the second. Too tired to do anything about his problem tonight, he lies under the blankets and over the sheets like a fucking middle-schooler and pretends it never happened. 

The moon stares down at him as it shines into his room, and he sinks deeper into his blanket, trying to wipe the dream from his mind. He _will_ forget the sharp curve of Makoto’s mouth. He _will_ forget the way the suit stuck to every crevice, and the way she glared down at him, huffing at him like he was nothing, and—

Akira turns over onto his stomach before he can finish the thought, covering his head with his pillow. Morgana stretches somewhere near him and groans, scooching over until he’s pressed against Akira’s thigh.

His eyelids fall with the weight of sleep, and he pushes down the sparks in his stomach when Makoto flies through his mind. His pulse races in his ears when he tries to breathe in even counts to slow down his heart — but he doesn’t fall asleep until the bluest hours of the night.

Tomorrow’s going to be a long, _long_ day.

* * *

Akira spots Makoto as soon as he steps onto the platform — she’s looking the other way and fanning herself with her hand to fight the sticky June heat. Akira’s heart beats a little harder when she glances over and perks up in surprise, immediately navigating through the crowd to stand right under him. 

Before Akira can even open his mouth, Makoto throws her arms around his neck, pulling him against her body and kissing his cheek. “Welcome back,” she mutters into his skin.

“I missed you,” he sighs, hugging her even closer. She smells like chamomile and lilies.

Makoto hums and nuzzles into his shoulder — and before he knows it, she’s maneuvered his suitcase out of his loose grip and replaced it with her hand instead. “You must be tired, hm?” she asks like the mother hen she is, and Akira attempts to swipe back his luggage only for her to tug it out of reach. “I’ll take it. You can worry about it later today.”

Her smile is so big, her face pink and her eyes glimmering as she looks up at him, and Akira moves her bangs to kiss her on the forehead. Makoto pulls on his hand and motions to the exit with her chin. “C’mon, let’s go. I want to take you out to eat before the rush hits.”

Akira snickers and saunters up next to her, pressing their arms together. She’s so small next to him, only coming up to his chin. “You’re such a planner,” he teases, wincing when she punches him on the shoulder.

“As if you didn’t know. I wasn’t our strategist for nothing,” she retaliates as quick as lightning, and Akira sticks out his tongue only to receive a flick on the forehead. 

They hike up the stairs to Shibuya, and Makoto huffs when they finally reach the top, letting the suitcase drop onto the concrete with a _clack_. “When did you want to see everyone else? I know they couldn’t come to pick you up, but I figured we could do something later—”

“I think,” Akira interrupts, “I kind of want to spend the day with just us.”

He pulls her out of the bustle of the streets under a few trees, and Makoto blinks in surprise, lashes fluttering against her pink cheeks. Akira chuckles breathlessly. “I mean, I definitely wanna see them, maybe for lunch or something, but a full day is a little—” 

Makoto shushes him with a quick peck under the shield of the canopy. “You don’t need to explain yourself. I get it.” She squeezes his hand twice for good measure. “How about we drop your stuff off and then go out to eat? I can invite them along just for that.” 

Akira nods and stifles a yawn, and Makoto beams. She looks over at the Ginza line and watches him with a secret in her eye, pulling him over across the street.

Akira stops them in place and raises an eyebrow. “I’m staying at Leblanc,” he tells her, as if she didn’t know. Then, he points over his shoulder where he knows Yongen-Jaya is.

Makoto scrunches up her nose and puts a hand on her chin as if she was pondering a thought. “I don’t think so, not since I talked to Boss and told him I have my own apartment.” She’s almost playful, but not quite.

Akira catches on and shifts his weight forward, leaning over Makoto. “Really? I wasn’t aware of any changes. Care to explain?” He trails his finger down the contour of Makoto’s neck, tracing over the outline of her collarbones through her shirt.

Makoto rolls her eyes and gives him a deadpan stare, and Akira snorts out of character, moving his hand up to push Makoto’s hair behind her ear. He ignores the heat building in his stomach when she pouts. 

“I wanted to surprise you,” she huffs out, turning her head to the side with a dignified _swish_ of her hair. “There’s also _literally_ no privacy in that attic, mind you.” 

Akira’s jaw drops unintentionally as blood rushes up to his face, and Makoto can’t stop a smile from creeping onto her pretty mouth, eyes sharpening into little rubies. “What’s the expression for?” 

Akira glares at her knowingly, and she giggles into her fingers, shifting back into her usual self as she grabs his hand. “Privacy is valuable for other things, too.”

And just like that, she walks them back out into the street, pretending like she _didn’t_ just stare at him like that, the same way she watches him when she’s underneath him. Akira stumbles behind her as he tries to regain his composure, and Makoto glances at him over her shoulder with a crinkle between her brows. He can already feel her second-guessing herself.

She’s only taking him across Station Square, but each step feels like a block. She stops them right before they swipe their cards, turning the plastic over in her fingers and shifting back and forth on her hips. 

“Would you rather stay in Leblanc? It was a bit... presumptuous, but I thought you wouldn’t mind staying with me,” she mutters, more to herself than to him.

Akira, still trying to clear his mind, shakes his head and rubs her shoulder. “I don’t mind at all. It was as much of a surprise as you hoped.” 

Makoto blinks up at him with tea-saucer eyes, and Akira walks ahead of her to swipe his card. He looks back at her with a cat-like grin, and she quickly follows suit, taking his hand again and leading him to the train without another word.

* * *

Makoto lives not too far from where she used to live during high school, and she takes him to a café right down the street from her apartment. Bare lightbulbs hang low from the ceiling and tint the white walls and sienna floor a soft gold. The hexagonal shelves on the walls hold a variety of books and succulents. It’s definitely made for a college town, complete with lofi music for ambiance and chalkboards advertising the day’s specials in front of the establishment.

Makoto opts for one of the back corners of the café where they sit on a pair of beanbags, and she carries over their drinks with a bag of two croissants tucked under her arm. “This seems like something Ann would order,” Akira muses when she sets down their food on the low table between them. “Actually, this is a place Ann would go to, not you.”

Makoto shrugs and hands Akira the drink she ordered for him, falling into the beanbag next to him and scooting up to his side. “It is, actually. She had a shoot nearby and took me here. It’s pretty good.” 

Akira hums in reply and sips his coffee. It’s pretty punchy, but not overwhelmingly so, and he gives Makoto a thumbs up to show his approval. Makoto laughs a little melody and takes a drink from her own coffee, her face disappearing behind the large mug. 

When she sets it down, there’s a thick line of creamy foam on her upper lip. She licks it away with a quick swipe of her cherry tongue, and Akira forces himself to drink down more coffee and look away. When he meets her gaze again, Makoto narrows her eyes at him.

“Are you okay? You’ve been a little off,” she asks, concern lining every syllable. She tilts her head and holds her cheek in her hand.

Akira rubs at his tired eyes. “I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. Morgana was pretty restless.”

“I can tell. Your undereyes are pretty blue.” She points her own index under her eyes to show him where it’s the worst. Akira feigns distress and flops across the table, and Makoto snorts, reaching out to grab Akira’s hand.

He almost thinks that's the end of it, but then she puts her hand on her chin and bites her lip. Akira zooms in on the pull of her teeth against her plush, red mouth. He can see thoughts dancing in her eyes — he should’ve known he can’t lie to her.

“Are you sure everything else is alright? Morgana sleeps like the dead.”

 _You’re too observant for your own good,_ Akira mourns, shifting on his beanbag uncomfortably. Makoto raises a brow at him, and he tries laughing off the guilt. 

“I had a really weird dream,” Akira admits.

Makoto blinks in surprise. “A-A dream?” 

Akira nods stiffly. “I, uh, I couldn’t fall back asleep for another hour or so, but I woke up in the middle of the night and everything.”

“What was it about?” Makoto blurts, scooting closer so their arms are pressed together. Akira gulps and feels his face heating up, and Makoto’s expression crumbles like fine china falling off the shelves. “U-Unless it’s something a little personal. Sorry. I should’ve been more considerate.”

Akira chuckles as naturally as he can and leans forward, their noses almost brushing. Maybe he can play it cool. _Maybe._ “It wasn’t personal, just a little... I don’t know the word.” He pauses. “Inappropriate.” 

Makoto flushes pink. _Wrong move. Wrong fucking move._

She pulls back a few centimeters, brushing her hair behind her red ears and tapping the toe of her boot anxiously against the wooden floor. “A-Are you going to tell me about it?” she prods, watching him analytically through her lashes. “About what kind of dream it was?”

Akira shrugs and snatches up a croissant, nibbling at it while Makoto sits there, watching him. He can feel his dick pressing into the tight denim of his jeans. “I can see you psychoanalyzing me right now,” he calls out, attempting to regain the shred of dignity he has under her glare. “If you really want to know, I’ll tell you later.” _No. NO. Idiot. Absolute idiot._

Makoto narrows her eyes, pondering the deal for a moment, and nods in agreement. Akira bites his own tongue so he doesn’t scold himself over his choice of words. 

“I’m holding you to that,” she tells him. A wave of skepticism washes over her face as she tears off a piece of her croissant and shoves it in her mouth. She sucks off the leftover chocolate from her thumb. 

Akira licks his dry lips and adjusts himself again, watching her tongue move over her skin, the flit of her eyelashes as she bats them, the sharp edge of her jaw.

Makoto simply shakes her head at him in bemusement and continues eating, and Akira tries not to shudder out an exhale. “How’s school going back at home?” she asks, patting her mouth clean with a napkin, and Akira is _so_ thankful for the turn in their conversation.

Just as he’s about to answer, the café door bursts open. Their heads swing over to see one Sakamoto Ryuji bounding through the entrance with more familiar heads following behind. 

It’s Futaba who sees them first despite Ryuji’s bravado, and she stomps over to them with a smile that’s too big for her tiny face. 

“ _Akira!_ ”

Futaba zooms around the table to throw her arms around him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ann, Yusuke, Haru, and Ryuji follow. One by one, they all crush him with their hugs, and he feels his frustrations begin to melt away.

And for the rest of brunch, Akira’s able to distract himself in everyone’s antics, feeling _almost_ at home — if they were at Leblanc, he could pretend that nothing ever changed, that he was still living in the café’s attic. Seeing everyone’s faces in the flesh and hearing their voices without the buffer of a shitty internet connection creates a type of joy in him he can’t describe.

Really, there’s something so much better about seeing Makoto’s reactions and getting to hold her hand the entire time, her palm warm as it presses into his.

Akira notes how her eyebrows scrunch together when he’s telling everyone a long story, how her lips curl up when she’s proud of him, how her face completely lights up when she tells him about her life in college so far. 

When he looks at her, he deliberately does not focus on anything else _but_ her face for fear of his REM state coming to bite him in the ass, and it works — until everyone is about to leave.

“Let me know when you’re feeling up to goin’ out, ‘kay?” Ryuji laughs out as he claps Akira on the back. As Ryuji turns to join the rest of the group who’s already at the entrance, Akira stretches his arms above him, groaning in relief when his back pops, and waves at them tiredly, stifling a yawn. His lack of sleep is catching up with him.

But a split second later, Ryuji’s head whips around back to Akira, and Akira narrows his eyes skeptically at the blond’s mischievous grin.

Ryuji glances over his shoulder to make sure Makoto is still over by the trash cans, cleaning up leftover food and mugs, before crouching down and cupping his hand around Akira’s ear.

“You guys’re going back to fuck, right?” he whispers, voice tinted with curiosity and perversion. “You _do_ have an apartment to yourselves.”

“Fuck _off_ , dipshit,” Akira hisses, swatting Ryuji on the shoulder as hard as he can. 

Ryuji cackles into the back of his hand before getting back up, towering over Akira with a smirk. “Dude, it’s so obvious you need to get laid.” Akira has to stop himself from kicking Ryuji’s good leg. “No judgment here, though. Just keep me posted.” 

“Ryuji, c’mon!” Ann calls out from across the café, and Ryuji leaves Akira with a casual wave before joining everyone else at the door. They trickle out the entrance slowly, morning dew evaporating into the summer haze.

Akira holds his hands to his burning cheeks to try and cool them down, guilt seeping back into his bones when Makoto returns. “Ryuji is such a shiteater,” he blurts out as he stands up next to her.

Makoto snorts and squints her eyes in laughter, pulling one of his hands from his face and lacing their fingers together. “You’re acting as if we just learned that? What did he say to you?”

Akira ponders telling her a vague truth of what he said but opts to shrug it off. “Some sex joke about coffee. Something stupid.”

“You’re not one to get flustered about a sex joke.”

“It was pretty vulgar if you really want to know.” _Do you ever shut up, Akira?_

Thankfully, Makoto only raises an eyebrow, and Akira already sets to erasing the memory of Ryuji’s nosiness.

As they leave the café, the soft June breeze wraps around them and pulls them closer together. The white glow of the sun sits high in Tokyo’s blue stratosphere, and Makoto hums after breathing in the clean air. 

She turns back to Akira and smiles softly, shyly, and Akira tries to allow himself a moment of reprieve by kissing her. When he pulls away, her cheeks are dusted posy pink, and she leans into him without another word.

They walk in silence until they’re standing under a tall, cream building with arms of balconies poking out of its sides. “We can relax here for a bit and go out again tonight if you’d like?” Makoto asks.

Akira nods instinctively, and his pulse starts beating heavily in his ears when it _literally wasn’t_ a few minutes ago — bodies are so fucking weird, now that he thinks about it. He’s been through much worse against Shadows and in Palaces. This isn’t even on the same _level_ of severity—

Makoto interrupts his thoughts with a pinch to his cheek, and Akira winces at the quick flash of pain. 

“Stop worrying for once. You’re starting to look like me,” she jokes, voice treading lightly into the unknown territory of his thoughts. Her eyes shimmer like gems, and Akira doesn’t trust his voice when his brain’s all scrambled with dream tidbits and Ryuji’s stupid comments.

 _It’ll be fine,_ he tells himself as Makoto leads them inside. _You’re Joker. You have nothing to worry about._

He almost lets himself think Makoto’s forgotten about his nervous promise, but he knows better than that — he just hopes he hasn’t fallen from her graces by the end of the day.

* * *

Akira lets go of Makoto’s hand and follows her through the door, making a beeline for his luggage after toeing off his sneakers in the genkan. Before he can even hike his backpack over his shoulders, Makoto reaches out and slides her hands down his shoulders, taking the straps from his hands and kicking his suitcase her way. 

“I’m the host. _You_ go sit.”

Akira can’t even find it in himself to protest and blinks down at her, slow like he’s swimming. Makoto huffs before lugging his things down a hallway.

They’d left her apartment so quickly after dropping off his luggage that he didn’t get to actually look at her place until right now. He’s greeted by a cheap kitchenette to his left and a tiny living room in front of him; beyond that, there’s a small balcony where Makoto’s set up a wicker chair. To his right, there’s a small hallway with a door to the bathroom and another to the bedroom at the very end.

While it’s not the most expensive, it feels very much like Makoto’s space, all tasteful and clean and monochrome with hints of olive and blue — but it’s so small that there’s nowhere to hide.

Akira shifts on his feet for a few minutes before trailing after Makoto down the hallway. A big window on the left side shines white sunlight over the wooden floor. There’s a desk next to the door and a massive stack of textbooks next to her laptop. Makoto’s futon sits near the rightmost corner of the room by a tall bookcase overflowing with literature. 

And the girl in question is kneeling in front of her open closet and rummaging through Akira’s suitcase, shoulders tense in concentration as she digests the mess inside.

Akira sits down next to her as quietly as he can and takes the dress shirt she’s holding out of her hands, deftly folding it and setting in on the suitcase lid. “I’m here for two weeks, not a lifetime,” he teases softly. He rubs her shoulder and gives it a light squeeze, hoping that’ll release some of the habitual stress.

She sends him a quick glare and picks up the socks floating amid his clothing, pushing them into pairs and tossing them over to him. “You lived in Leblanc for almost a year and refused to unpack your clothes at _all_. My house, my rules.”

“You know, I didn’t actually _have_ room to unpack—”

“That doesn’t apply here.”

Akira snorts _very_ unattractively, and the corners of Makoto’s lips turn up. “If you say so. You just have to pack it all back with me.” Makoto nudges him gently at that but doesn’t make another retort, and the pair finish taking out anything decent Akira’s packed away.

As Akira slams his suitcase shut, he glances over at Makoto who sits perfectly upright, eyes focused on nothing in particular. When he taps her shoulder to grab her attention, her head snaps over. 

“Tell me about the dream.”

Akira freezes and almost sputters in shock, regaining his composure by the skin of his teeth. “It’s not that important,” he chuckles out like Joker would, as if his nerves aren’t eating him up. “It was just about one of the Palaces.”

Makoto rests her face in her palm, unfazed as she pushes her tongue into her cheek. She leans forward into his personal space and presses her hand to his chest — his heart flutters under it. “Which one was it, then?”

“It was... the one with Yaldabaoth. Not a Palace, I guess, if you want to get technical.” It’s not the whole truth, but it’s better than nothing.

“Akira,” Makoto sighs, scooting closer until their noses are almost touching, “I know you think you’re a great liar, and you are, but not right now.” 

Akira’s face drops with that blow to his pride, and Makoto sits back and crosses her arms. “It’s been bothering you all day — it’s so obvious. Please just _tell me_.”

Akira’s hands clench into fists as he looks away, ears hot with embarrassment. _Fuck it._ “It was this... stupid vision from back when we... battled Yaldabaoth or whatever. His fucking lust spell.”

He waits for any sort of reaction; when Makoto says nothing, he goes all in. He’s doomed himself anyways. “I-It was just... _you_ were in control. You were just looking down at me and over me, but I just felt awful even imagining it. It’s so Ryuji.”

Akira waits for a scolding or a hard hit to his arm — but he hears a light snickering instead. 

When he glances up at Makoto, she’s covering her mouth with the back of her hand. Akira frowns at her, and Makoto sings out a symphony of laughter, holding her stomach and folding down towards the floor.

Akira blinks in surprise before frowning deeper. “What, so it’s funny?”

“You were _horny_ all day?” Makoto shoots back between sputters of giggles. She tries to stitch her face back into neutrality when she sits up again, but a smile still crawls onto her face nonetheless. “That doesn’t sound _remotely_ bad enough to get that reaction out of you. You’re acting like I took a vow of celibacy.”

Akira gawks at her and rolls his eyes, looking away when Makoto inches closer. “First of all, that’s clearly _not true_. Second, what am I supposed to expect when you literally hit Ryuji when he makes any sex jokes?”

Makoto lets out a few stray giggles that fall like flowers. “I mean, yeah, but he’s excessively vulgar at times. I’m not dating Ryuji, either. I’m dating _you._ Combined with everything else, it’s just... so _funny_ , and also definitely not in character.” 

Just as Akira’s about to roll his head back and sink onto the floor, Makoto grabs his face and pulls it back to hers. Akira almost glares at her because he’s feeling immature. “I mean, you know it now. I felt very guilty about it, I’ll have you fucking know.”

Makoto purses her lips in confusion and brushes her hair behind her ears — Akira takes note of the little red tips. “I think you’re allowed to fantasize to an extent. Am I really that strict of a girlfriend?” 

There’s a tremor to her voice, a very Makoto-like overthought.

Akira sits up and rests one of his hands on her thigh, pushing away his own embarrassment. “You’re not, it’s just... a me thing. I didn’t think you’d like it.”

“Well, you know better now.”

“But I—” Akira struggles to find his words when Makoto’s hand trails from his cheek to his jaw, and her gaze drops away from his. “I don’t want to push you into doing something we haven’t done.”

Makoto meets his stare with a challenge brewing like fire under espresso. “Then why don’t you ask me about it instead of dancing around the issue?”

Blood rushes up to his cheeks when he sees her pupils dilate, leaving only a ring of crimson around a pit of charcoal. He reaches up to play with his bangs, a nervous habit that he knows Makoto has caught on to over the last several months, and he clears his throat. What is _with_ him?

“Am I right to say you’re flustered as always?” he tries, careful to keep his face blank as he diverts from the subject.

“You’re dodging the question.”

“You’re dodging mine.”

Makoto huffs and moves even further into him, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder. “You’re so stubborn sometimes, you know that?” she whispers into the fabric of his tee-shirt. He can feel her heartbeat pounding in her chest. 

He almost tries making a snarky comeback like always, but she interrupts him with a shuddering voice.

“To answer your question — no, not exactly, but not exactly... _not_. I can’t say I’m opposed... not that I even know what you thought of. I doubt you’d come up with something grotesque.” She traces random shapes over his heart, crossing an X every so often. 

That’s her nervous habit — moving her hands like she doesn’t know where they should go.

“Are you _sure_? I didn’t think you had any interest. At least not right now,” Akira questions her, fighting back the temptation bubbling in him from her response.

“It’s been two months since I’ve seen you and probably three since we did anything — yeah, of course I have interest.” Makoto’s dazed stare almost shifts into a weak glare, and she nudges him with her shoulder. “You sound so formal.”

Akira chews his lip and takes a leap of faith, tilting her up by her chin. “It’s okay,” Makoto breathes out, pressing a hand to the nape of his neck and toying with the stray curls there.

Akira’s stomach curls with desire from seeing every detail up close and feeling Makoto’s nails scratching against delicate skin. 

“Positive?”

“I mean... yeah.”

“Now. Like. Right now?”

“There’s no time like the present.”

Akira almost scoffs at the hint of mischief sharpening every word, but Makoto grins back at him shyly. 

A wave of stress rolls off Akira's back with a silent crash as he leans in — but Makoto stops him with a finger to his lips.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one that’s in control, though?” she whispers into his ear, and Akira can’t stop a shiver from climbing down his spine.

Makoto closes the distance between them with a surprising amount of force, and Akira whimpers into her mouth when she slides her tongue against his, the sensation new but familiar all at once. 

Her mouth is wet and _hot_ , and their teeth click together clumsily as she swings her leg over his crossed ones to straddle him. Akira’s arms immediately come up to circle her waist and pull her closer, and he hisses out a quiet “ _Fuck_ ” when she grinds down onto his cock. Makoto grins almost wolfishly in response.

He kisses her almost feverishly, holding her tighter and pushing his hips up into her, and Makoto laughs into him, breaking for air. “You’re so impatient,” she teases, and Akira presses his lips into the juncture where her neck and jaw meet. 

Makoto’s laugh loses its strength right then, turning into a breathy gasp, and she starts to pull away to kneel above him. Akira reluctantly lets her go and sits under her eyes, almost all black like onyx, and the dream comes back to him with a new force. He didn’t know how much he _missed this_ , being with Makoto, kissing her, listening to the hidden tones in her voice.

Makoto pushes him down by his chest, his head landing on the corner of the futon, and Akira catches on, pulling himself onto the bedding and taking her with him. She lands between his legs, cheeks flaming red, and hands darting from his shoulders to his jaw, unsure of their place.

“Is something wrong?” Akira asks instinctively, placing his palms on the sheets behind him.

Makoto shakes her head. “Are you going to at least... indicate if I’m going in the right direction?” There’s a hesitance to her question, one he wants to dissolve as quickly as he heard it.

Akira smirks and runs his hands down her chest to the hem of her stupidly tight shirt. “Who’s the formal one now?”

Makoto huffs and smacks his hands away before pulling the ribbed fabric off of her like she’s shedding a second skin. Her neck is already flushed pink, the color spreading down to her pale chest, and Akira’s breath hitches in his throat. 

Makoto climbs onto his lap, throwing the shirt towards her hamper. Always the smart girl.

He keeps his hands behind him, trying to recall the dream, this fantasy that Makoto wants to know, but she interrupts his train of thought by yanking him flush against her. Akira’s mouth opens for her on instinct, and he pulls away from her with a wet _pop_ , lips trailing across her jaw to suck a flower of love just under her ear.

Makoto runs her hands up Akira’s shirt and presses them flat against his abdomen, fingers tracing the contours of his muscles as Akira moves further down, shoving off a bra strap to plant kisses down her neck to her shoulder. 

“I can’t tell—” Makoto starts, gasping when Akira starts pushing her bra further down and licks a hot stripe across her decollete, “I can’t tell if that whole _control thing_ was a joke or not.”

Akira almost doesn’t respond when he pushes the bra down far enough that her tits are entirely out, white lace lying delicately against her blushed skin. Makoto locks her fingers in his curls and pulls down _hard_ so he’s forced to look up at her, and his cock presses harder into his jeans.

“Like that,” he sighs out. “Just shit like that. Shit that you _want_. Don’t be afraid to tell me to do anything. I’ll let you know if it’s too much.”

Makoto blinks at him once, and she slowly untangles her hands from his hair, clutching his face and digging a perfectly shaped nail into his jawline. Akira shudders at the déjà vu, and Makoto’s eyes widen as she notes the observation.

“For starters,” she whispers almost against his lips, and Akira moves to kiss her. He almost whines when she sits up taller and pulls herself out of reach, neck long and unmarked in front of him. Her eyes shine with realization. “You need to strip.”

Akira blinks. “Strip?”

Makoto bites her lip almost like she’s considering taking back her demand, but her grip on him tightens. “I’m in an unfair position, so you need to make up for it. _Strip_.”

Akira’s hands move off of her waist automatically but flutter around for a moment, uncertain of where to go. Makoto moves off of him at an agonizing rate, and she waits across from him, tits naked and pushed up by her crossed arms and _so_ close — he could reach out and grab her back if he wants to, and he almost does.

But Makoto swats his hands away and readjusts her bra to cover herself again, eyebrows haughtily drawn together in a way that reminds him of when she first caught him on Shujin’s rooftop. Akira smiles at the memory — of all things to come back now.

He pulls off his shirt with ease and quickly works on unbuckling his belt. He catches Makoto’s cheeks heating up at the familiar sound of metal hitting metal, of leather hissing against denim, and her eyes turn all black when he begins peeling off his jeans, leaving him in a pair of boxers.

Akira ignores the peony’s flush spreading down his skin and the precome wetting his underwear in lieu of crawling over towards Makoto, smirk already inching onto his face as she turns her nose up at him. “You’re a bad actress, you know that?”

“I’m trying my best here, okay?” she spits back with vitriol, pushing Akira back down onto the futon with a hard shove, and he can only lie there as she towers over him, tall and powerful and _way_ too good for him.

Makoto undoes her button with relative ease, but the slip of her fingers as she tries to pull down her fly gives way to some of her anxiety. Her underwear doesn’t match the dainty lace bra — her panties are thin and silky and powder blue with a tiny bow at the hem. In the midst of the thick, lustful air, he stops himself from calling her cute on the spot.

Akira holds his head in the cradle of his hands and watches her peel the tight denim shorts off. He can feel himself heating up with every new inch of skin she’s revealing — and he just wants to _bite it_.

Makoto tsks at him as she throws her shorts aside. “You look like an animal.”

Akira chokes in surprise, snickers but says nothing more as Makoto inches toward him again. “How so?” he counters, grinning devilishly at the crack in Makoto’s act when her eyes bounce open wider.

“You know the phrase, ‘I could just eat you up?’” She almost sounds like she’s in a debate, lining up the argument in her head as she hangs over him. A few bangs stick to the heat of her forehead, and she whips her braided headband off into another corner of the room. “That’s what you look like.”

Akira groans and pulls her down, chasing the heat of her mouth and the taste of chocolate and espresso from earlier. His tongue swirls around hers before he gently sinks his teeth into her bottom lip, and a shiver runs through her entire body. 

He presses a hand into her back and slips the other under her bra. Makoto’s legs freeze around his hips as he strokes a thumb across her nipple, and she whines desperately into his mouth.

The hand on her back trails down to her ass, inching the fabric off one of her hips. Makoto seems to regain some composure even as Akira begins sucking a love bite onto her neck. This is something they’re used to, and Akira wants her to feel okay, fantasy or not. It might be better to just let it go after all — it’s not like it’s significant.

He almost sits up with her in his arms and gets ready to flip her over onto the mattress, but Makoto pauses over him, fingers ghosting up the side of his torso to grip his shoulder. She bites her lip, turning a thought over in her head, and the quiet roll of her voice breaks through his daze.

“C-Can I ride you?”

Akira pulls away from the bruise he’s sculpted into her neck and glances up at her. “Already? Aren’t I supposed to be the impatient one?”

Makoto’s cheeks flush more if that’s even possible, but her gaze pins him to the pillows. He swallows down his wit. 

“Your face, not your dick.”

“Oh.”

Akira’s mouth immediately runs dry, but the bulge in his boxers reveals the truth almost immediately. Makoto almost smirks but hesitates, silently asking him for his consent with her pleading stare — and Akira nods, gripping her hips and pulling her onto his chest, ring fingers and pinkies digging into her thighs.

Makoto shudders and shoves a thumb under the part of her underwear still on her, and Akira helps her pull them all the way down her legs. His fingers climb up quickly to knead her tits, reveling in the thick swallow rolling down Makoto’s throat and the flustered tilt of her head as she looks away. She rolls her eyes, unclips the bra squished under his palms, and discards it.

Akira moves his grip back down to her hips, chest heaving at the sight of her, wanting to touch and claim, and Makoto beams shyly like the moon as it’s about to rise. She shifts forward, knees framing his face and pressing his curls into his cheeks, and her eyes flood with affection when Akira gently smiles at her.

“You ready?”

Akira scoffs. “I was born ready.”

Makoto punches her tongue into the meat of her cheek. “Show-off.”

She bolsters herself against the back wall with a forearm, and Akira’s hit by a heavy musk with a tinge of sugary sweet. Just as she’s about to sink down, she hesitates right over his mouth, eyes wide and quivering.

Akira meets her gaze and loosens his grip on her hips, rubbing them with his thumbs until the nervous sparks in her eyes start to fade away — then, he yanks down hard and buries his mouth in her heat. 

The taste of her hits him like a bullet, and Makoto yelps and slaps her hand against the plaster as Akira presses his tongue against the surface and reaches around to cup her ass, pulling her closer to push his tongue in. 

Makoto lets out a high mewl and covers her mouth with the back of her free hand. “Oh my _god_ ,” she whispers out as he curls his tongue up to move deeper inside. Akira moves a hand around to her stomach, trailing down with a finger until it hits her clit.

His cool, gray stare meets her burning gaze, embers burning copper around the void of her pupils as she watches him rub the pad of his thumb over the nerves, and Makoto’s teeth pull hard on her lip. She whines as he moves his tongue inside her even faster, and she twists a hand into his hair and tugs him closer.

Akira thinks he could suffocate like this, nose filled with her heavy scent and ears tuned to the wet sounds of his tongue thrusting in and out of her, shifting back and forth looking for the right spot. He rubs her clit even harder, moves out of her cunt to leave a red bite in her ivory thigh, and Makoto moans high and loud, the cry bouncing off the walls and sending waves of desire down to his cock. 

Once Akira brings her even closer to him again, the majority of her weight already on his face, Makoto stops using the wall for support and swallows heavily. She grinds onto Akira’s mouth and massages one of her tits, keening as she pinches her own nipple — and he’s _drowning_ , groaning and pressing his fingers into her ass, hard enough to bruise.

Makoto heaves as she tries to stitch back her expression, lamely feigning irritation probably the way she thinks he wants it. His gaze follows her right arm reaching behind her, and his eyes widen when her thin fingers slide down his boxers and pull out his stiff cock, tightly wrapping around the base — his hips buck up into her hand, and Makoto scoffs.

“You’re already—” she starts arrogantly, nearly losing the act when Akira presses the heel of his palm into her clit and pushes his tongue as deep as it can go. Makoto pushes a little more weight onto him, pushing him deep into the pillows. “You’re so hard, and from what? _This_?”

Akira whimpers into her soaking cunt and thrusts up into her hand as she strokes him, running a finger across the tip. Makoto sighs and slowly, _weakly_ , pulls off of him, but Akira swiftly moves out from under her and snakes her arms around her waist, looking up at her with his chin pressed into her sternum.

Makoto pushes Akira’s bangs off his forehead and tilts her head, looking down at him like she’s deciding a punishment. Just as he tries to capture her mouth again, Makoto shifts back until his cock rests in the cleft of her ass. 

She feigns ignorance and analyzes, the dilation of his pupils, the way his stare darts to her tits that are right in his face, the swipe of his tongue over his lips covered in her aftertaste.

“I guess I’ll have to show you how to lead,” she sighs like it’s a chore, pressing further down onto his _painfully_ hard length, and Akira’s dream melds more with reality. He whines and hikes up her torso, mouth wrapping around one of her nipples and biting to please her. 

Makoto shuts up a tiny gasp as quickly as it leaves her mouth, and she pushes him away. “Rude,” she bites, wincing as the colder air hits her nipple, pink and swollen and hard with lust. “There are condoms in the desk.”

Akira suddenly finds himself biting back a smile because that is _not_ where he thought they’d be, and so does Makoto, showing a sliver of her usual shy beam — but then, she leans forward and sucks a love bite where his neck and the underside of his jaw meet. She nips at the fragile skin there and leaves a rosy indent — Akira wants to immortalize it.

“I’m riding for real this time,” she asserts rather than asks, and Akira stumbles over himself as he scrambles to the desk, rummaging clumsily through its drawers. He hears Makoto stifle a laugh when he trips on nothing on the way back, a ribbon of condoms running behind him as he lands back on the futon.

Makoto moves over to let Akira rest in his previous position, head towards the wall and back pressed into the bedding, and he rips off one of the packets and tosses the rest aside. 

Makoto shoves her nails under the hem of his boxers and slowly pulls them down his thighs, and her eyes darken as she licks a hot stripe up the side of his cock, pulling his underwear off his feet and tossing it aside. 

Akira lies there helplessly, one hand buried in the sheets and the other bringing the condom to his mouth. He frantically tears the wrapper with his teeth when Makoto deftly strokes him at an agonizing rate. 

He gives her the condom with a shaky hand, and she rolls it onto him in one smooth motion, running the pad of her thumb over his tip to watch him shudder. “You’re a tease,” he mutters, impatience tangling in his stomach as he holds her thin waist.

Makoto watches him through her lashes, wine red irises murky as she presses her front against his — can she feel his heartbeat? “My rules, Joker,” she purrs in his ear. Akira kisses her frantically and deeply, sinking into the heat of her mouth and chasing it as she sits up.

She grabs his cock again and pulls away from his lips, a trail of saliva connecting them. “No touching until I say so,” she murmurs, rolling the command softly on her tongue.

Akira pouts, and Makoto stifles a snort. “Why not?”

She shrugs. “Why should I let you?”

Akira opens his mouth to protest, but Makoto shoves him onto the futon and kneels over his dick, trying to align herself. He crosses his arms behind his head and holds his own hair to keep his hands in place, and Makoto’s shoulders tense as she begins to lower herself.

Their eyes meet for a split second, and Akira almost thinks she’ll stop altogether, thinks she’ll lean down to kiss him again and turn over the power—

That train of thought gets cut off when she gasps and screws her eyes shut, shoving the head inside, and Akira almost melts. 

Makoto presses her hands against his chest to support herself, biting her lip as she continues to sink onto him. “The head is always the _worst_ ,” she whispers, more to herself than anyone else. 

Akira instinctively reaches out to grab her hips and steady her. Makoto peeks at him through one eye and beams shyly. 

“I wish you knew what it felt like to put something in. It—” she huffs, lowering down another inch. “It _hurts_ .”

Akira snickers. “Can’t help that I’m so _big_ —”

Makoto shuts him up by abruptly sinking the rest of the way down, and Akira chokes out a gasp at how _tight_ she is around him. She lets out a shivering sigh. 

“You’re so arrogant sometimes,” she scolds with no malice, head lolling forward as she adjusts. Each movement of her hips sends pleasure through Akira’s nervous system.

After a minute filled only with the sounds of their heavy breathing and Akira’s pulse in his ears, Makoto looks up at him and smirks.

“No touching,” she reminds him quietly, the ends of her lips quivering as she scratches down Akira’s torso. “Got it?”

Akira reluctantly lets her go and puts his hands behind his head again, tugging on his lip as he looks at Makoto’s face, sweaty and flushed with lust and big doll-eyes staring down at him. 

He nods and shudders when Makoto grins at him wickedly.

“Good boy.”

She rises all the way to his tip before slamming back down, moaning breathlessly as she starts setting a pace.

Akira stifles his own grunts as Makoto continues to descend onto him with all her weight, the sound of skin on skin deafening him while she lets out quiet whines.

Akira tugs on his own curls and starts driving his cock up to meet her midway, and Makoto chokes on air and falls towards him, digging her nails into his shoulders. He starts thrusting faster and revels as she arches her back, eyes flying open he hits a certain spot.

“ _Right there_ ,” she seethes through gritted teeth, and it takes all of Akira’s self-control not to smother her and fuck her into the mattress. He channels that frustration into fucking her _harder_ , cock hitting her sweet spot while she tightens around him. 

He moves his hands from his hair to the edge of the futon, the pleasure growing in his stomach and making him sweat in the June heat, and Makoto’s eyes roll back into her head when she removes a hand from his bicep and starts rubbing at her clit. 

“I could be doing that, you know,” Akira tells her as he clenches his jaw, watching his cock disappear inside her. “If you let me use my — _fuck_ , my hands.”

Makoto laughs out sharply and clutches Akira’s face, pressing crescents into his cheekbone. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Don’t — don’t get mad at me when you’re getting what you asked for.” 

She punctuates her retort by speeding up the already reckless pace into something more ruthless. The warm light illuminates the curve of her back, painting her soft gold as she moves against him, trying to guide Akira’s dick even deeper into the right spot.

“You can do — do better than this, can’t you?” she taunts, the heightened blush the only thing giving way to any embarrassment. Akira groans and tilts his head up to capture her lips, and Makoto moans and melts into him.

He messes up his quick, steady rhythm when she reaches up to where his fingers are digging divots into the futon, sliding her hands under his palms and shoving her tongue into his mouth. “ _Fuck_ , I—” he pants into her, thrusting as deep as he can into Makoto’s cunt.

Makoto smirks against his lips and lets out another breathy moan as she pulls away to sit her full height, taking his hands with her. Akira notices the unreadable gleam in her eye but brushes it off because he’s _so close_ , and she’s glowing and sweating and moaning because of him, hair sticking to her face and tits bouncing with every hard thrust, and Akira sits up to kiss her again, _and_ —

She stops moving, one hand reaching under her to clench around the base of his cock, so tight that he can’t even come.

Akira heaves out an exhale and clenches his free hand into a fist, the pleasure bottling up in his system and distorting everything else. What the _fuck_?

The first thing he latches onto is irritation, and he glares at Makoto instinctively.

She watches him with wide, innocent eyes as black as night, smiling like she got caught writing his name in her notebook. She leans forward to put her chin on the crook of his shoulder, and she tugs on his earlobe with her teeth. 

“I didn’t say you could do that, did I?” she murmurs in his ear. “You were so quick, too.”

Akira licks his swollen lips and hears his own pulse beating in his ears. “I-I didn’t—” he begins, grunting when she squeezes his dick even tighter for good measure. “I didn’t know that was a rule.”

Makoto hums and pulls away just far enough that she can stare at him directly. Her wrist is at an awkward angle, and her thighs quiver with perseverance as she holds herself up so she can grip him. “I gotta keep you on your toes somehow.”

Makoto loosens her fingers and simultaneously starts lowering herself, letting him go when she knows he won’t come inside her. Akira shudders when she looks down at him again smugly.

She experimentally grinds her hips once she’s pressed up against him again, and Akira bites her shoulder to stifle the guttural moan that rips through his throat. He’s _so hard_ , and it _hurts_.

He almost doesn’t hear Makoto’s breathing stutter by his ear, the staccato rhythm of her heartbeat against his. He releases her shoulder and gently rubs a hand over the indent, and Makoto shivers. Akira huffs and pulls them flush against each other, waiting for her next demand.

“Touch me,” she whispers, lashes fluttering against her cheeks as she looks down, gaze hazy with lust. “You can touch me now. I want to finish what we started.”

Akira glances at her through his peripheral, and she nods slowly, sliding her hands around his neck and running one up into his curls. Her nails dig into his scalp, and he tilts back his head so he’s staring up at her.

Makoto’s pout sends more heat into his stomach. “Fuck me _hard_ , okay? You can do that, can’t you?” 

The question sounds like it should be more patronizing, but Makoto’s already squirming around his cock, biting her lip and pressing herself deeper into his pelvis.

Akira nods obediently as a strong ray of sun shines through the window, illuminating Makoto and casting a halo around her. “ _Trust me_ ,” he breathes out reverently.

Makoto sighs before kissing him, open-mouthed and filthy and needy, and Akira grins into her as his hands run down her sides and grip her hips. He revels at how she desperately scratches down his back as their hips grind into each other.

“Can you go deeper?” she almost pleas when his lips move down her jaw and lick up between her tits, sucking a bruise over her heart. 

Akira glances up at her through his lashes and runs his tongue over his lips, and Makoto shivers at the challenge he knows is in his eyes.

He tightens his hold on her hips, raising her to the head of his cock before slamming her all the way down.

Makoto keens loudly and throws her head back. Akira smirks and starts pounding into her ruthlessly, shifting so that he’s fucking her in his lap. 

“Is this what you wanted all along?” Akira asks, sneering when Makoto nods.

Makoto smothers him again with her lips, tongue swirling against his teeth mindlessly. “I-I like it either way, _fuck_ —”

Akira cuts her off as he hits her sweet spot from a better angle, and Makoto’s grip on his back loosens, eyes clouding up and mouth losing control as he keeps thrusting into her, manipulating her body and building up the pressure inside of him. 

Makoto whines when Akira pulls on her hair, and he moves his mouth down to close and suck on one of her nipples, tongue swirling around it. He smirks against her when a chorus of curses trickle out of her. 

“Do you like being used?” he asks, pressing his lips against her neck.

Makoto glares down at him as much as she can, trying to put on a cocky expression. “Shut _up_.”

He cuts her off with a particularly hard thrust, and Makoto chokes, wrapping her legs around his waist. “Y-You’re holding back,” she protests, but it comes out more like a plea when her face twists — and he doesn’t think she even believes it herself, but the challenge races up his spine.

Akira rams her down against the mattress and fucks her into the sheets, and Makoto cries out and digs her nails between his shoulder blades. Akira’s hips stutter when she clenches around him, and he _drowns_ in raw desire, chasing the upcoming high as fast as he can.

Makoto’s eyes begin to tear up at the corners, and she arches off the futon and into his chest, eyes blown out as she pushes back against him. She’s wrecked under him, skin burning and body bruised and legs spread open as far as they can go, cunt greedily eating up his cock.

“Fuck, Akira, I’m gonna — _fuck_ —”

“I got you.”

Makoto buries her fingers in the sheets above her head, letting out a shivering, quiet little moan as she comes, clenching around his cock — and Akira follows right after with her name on his lips, pressing his forehead to hers as the pressure in his stomach falls over the edge.

Akira’s eyes fall shut as he focuses on not collapsing on top of Makoto, his arms shaking with the effort, and he feels her fingers skate up his arms and gently pull his head down into the crook of her neck.

They lie there in the silence of her room, too close together as the sun’s heat permeates the air. Makoto brushes a sweaty lock of his hair behind his ear and nuzzles closer to him, the scent of chamomile and lilies wafting up his nose, and Akira fights the temptation to take a power nap.

Eventually, he presses a weak kiss into her cheek and slowly pulls out, opening his eyes to see Makoto wincing at the loss. He forces himself to sit up and pull off the condom, tying it and tossing it over to the trash can all the way by the desk.

Makoto warily readjusts across the futon, and Akira notices the lack of movement in her hips. She presses her hands against them to keep them flat, breathing a little heavier when she collapses onto her side.

Akira frowns, chest still heaving with exertion. “Was it too much?”

“Huh?” Makoto asks, eyes still glazed over with afterglow. Akira looks down at her hips, widening his eyes at the fingerprints of purple, and she shakes her head. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“That’s not necessarily good.”

“I still enjoyed it. Isn’t that what matters?”

Akira huffs out a laugh, and Makoto reaches for the thin, folded blanket next to the futon. “You know, you could’ve just got cum all over the floor if you didn’t make the shot,” she lectures him as she pulls the blanket over their legs.

Akira shrugs and flops down next to her. “But I didn’t, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Mm, I’m sure.” Akira turns onto his side and props himself up with his hand, and Makoto scoots toward him, hiding her chest with her arms close together. He strokes down her spine and lands in the small of her back. “Was it-um, was it good? For you?”

She buries her face in his chest, ears already turning a bright red, and Akira can’t help but sigh in affection at the complete turnaround in behavior. “What do you think?” he asks, nudging her bangs aside so they’re parted in the middle. “Thank you for indulging me.”

Makoto beams with shy pride and kisses his cheek, wrapping her arms around his torso to hug him close. Akira lets himself melt into her, sticky legs tangling together and heartbeats close. He can only hear their breathing and his pulse slowing down.

“Akira?”

“Hm?”

There’s a beat of hesitation. Akira tilts his head down at her and scrunches his brows together. 

“Why were you so... scared to tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

Makoto reaches up and smooths the crease of worry with her thumb. “The dream.”

Akira pauses before he answers because he knows what he told her, but even that doesn’t feel completely right. _Why_ were _you so afraid?_ “I told you, I thought you’d be mad—”

“But it’s not—” she sighs, cheeks puffing out as she tries to find her words. “You’re usually really... really confident with that kind of stuff, you know?” Akira doesn’t say that they were still Thieves the last time they fucked. 

Makoto pulls him back to her when she strokes his cheek in her hand. The sunlight turns her eyes amber, pupils wavering in the glow. “Did I really say something? I don’t wanna make you think that you... you can’t _talk_ to me.”

Akira falls onto his back and settles a hand on his stomach, staring at the ceiling rather than her burning gaze. “ _You_ didn’t do anything. It’s really... something to do with myself.”

“Yourself?”

“Mm.”

Another beat of hesitation, or calculation, since when he glances over, he sees Makoto turning the information over in her head. “Does it have to do with us not being Phantom Thieves?”

He shrugs despite the jab in his heart at the accuracy, chest heavy with embarrassment. “I mean, yeah? I feel like... like I lost something. Like, _charisma_ or _charm_.” 

Makoto moves even closer to him, flopping on her back too and pressing their arms together. Akira sighs. “I mean, isn’t it cooler to fuck a vigilante leader? I’m just a random guy.”

“You know that’s a lie.” Makoto nudges him harshly on the shoulder. “You’re not a random guy to me, and you’re still the leader to us. That’s not something that we can change. It’s a part of what made us who we are today.” Akira chews his cheek and runs a hand through his curls; they’re all tangled and greasy. 

He turns back onto his side to stare at her — even as disheveled as she is, hair splayed out like a fan across the white pillowcase, she’s fierce and prepared to fight. She grabs the hand lying on his torso and squeezes it. “You’re not any less of a man just because we’re retired.”

Akira blinks and feels a blush crawling onto his cheeks, and Makoto laces their fingers together. “Can you promise me you’ll try and remember that?” she chides more gently, more motherly, and Akira can’t bring himself to do anything but nod, still turning over her declaration in his brain.

Logically, he knows she’s right — but hearing it in her voice, gaze as passionate as it was when they fought Shadows, helps squash some of the doubt in his chest.

He tries to formulate a response to her thorough psychoanalysis, and Makoto sighs fondly. “Too heavy?”

Akira snickers and smiles shyly, playing with his bangs with his free hand. “Just a little bit, Miss Honor Student.”

Makoto feigns annoyance at the nickname and hikes the blanket up to her chin despite the heat, sticking her nose in the air. Akira chuckles and stifles a yawn with the back of his hand. 

Makoto takes immediate notice and looks over to the pile of clothes the two made, slowly walking over and fishing out their underwear. “I forgot you were pretty tired, I’m sorry.” She throws Akira his boxers and briefly opens her closet, pulling out a sleep shirt to go with her panties.

Akira shimmies on his underwear and pretends to pout as the shirt — his old black one he wore all the time in Leblanc — covers the curve of her ass. “Why’d you have to put something _on_?” he mourns for himself, throwing an arm across his face and turning away.

“You’re so dramatic.” He can _hear_ the glare she’s sending him. Akira peeks out from under his arm and frowns even more, and Makoto waddles mechanically back over to him, failing to look anything but wholesome. 

He drops the act and reaches up to rub over her hips in a silent apology, and Makoto’s irritation turns into something sweeter. “If you really wanna make it up to me, can you get some sleep so I’ll stop worrying?”

Akira nods. “Will you stay with me?”

“Yes, of course.”

She grabs a book from her desk before carefully sitting down next to him and leaning against the back wall. The scent of literature and nostalgia hits Akira’s nose as Makoto opens to a random point in the novel marked by a Buchimaru bookmark.

He scoots over next to her and leans down on her shoulder, his sleepy brain trying to process the last few hours, the nerves that Makoto already started to bring him out of — but he knows it’s an issue to think about another day.

Right now, he focuses on the faint orchestra of traffic outside, the warmth blossoming in his chest, the sound of Makoto already turning a page. He revels in how she leans her head on his, toying with a stray curl lying on his cheek. 

Makoto sits a little taller under him so he doesn’t have to tilt his neck awkwardly to meet the crook of her shoulder — and he thinks he falls for her all over again.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope... this came out well :,) if u read All of this then thank u so much!!! it always means a lot to me that people look at my work at all <3 leave a kudos or comment if u feel like it too!!! hopefully.... there are little to no typos
> 
> i hope you have a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!!! xoxoxo


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